


The Handsome Prince and The Swan Maiden

by Random_Original_Ficcery (Random_Nexus)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, Gen, Humor, Inspired By Tumblr, Other, Swan Maiden Trope, comeuppance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 20:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15057209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/pseuds/Random_Original_Ficcery
Summary: The handsome prince woos the swan maiden he's found, but things don't go the way he's expecting.Written For The Prompt:This Tumblr postand the classic swan maiden stories





	The Handsome Prince and The Swan Maiden

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of wanted to write something like this since I saw that Tumblr post, possibly even before it, because I'd had the same general trend of thoughts, though much more vague. I had a very stressful day, the A/C is broken (I know, I know, 1st world problems), and writing this was a kind of therapy. Hope others find it entertaining. :)

Night’s concealing darkness was fading as the handsome prince knelt by the swan maiden with breathless anticipation. Having hidden away the maiden’s feathered cloak, the finely dressed young man waited, watching her eyes open at his gentle touch to her hand. Limpid pools of dark blue, her eyes were, and set in a face fair and lovely as any man could ask of the girl he hoped to marry.

“My dear maiden,” he said in a kind voice, “I am Prince Roland. I have watched you come to this lake for seven nights, and you are more beautiful than any princess in the land. Will you marry me and be my princess?”

The girl looked around her leafy bower and then back to Prince Roland, her fair brows—the same white-gold of her hair—drawing together in what appeared confusion. “Marry you?” Though her voice was as soft and lovely as the maiden, herself, it also held the same confusion as her expression, and what might have been a little fear.

“Yes, marry me. I promise I shall love you and shelter you all the days of your life, my dear swan princess.” He petted the hand he’d lifted to wake her from her no doubt enchanted sleep. “You will never lack for any comfort, always the finest foods shall be prepared for you, and you will have gowns, jewels, and any adornment you wish.”

Taking one more look around her, then up at Prince Roland, her gorgeous eyes narrowing just before she plucked a downy white feather from the shoulder of his hunter green velvet jacket. Tilting her head a small margin, she then asked in that delicate, lovely voice of hers, “And what of my cloak of feathers?”

“Cloak of feathers?” Prince Roland echoed, putting on his most charming expression—the one that made his mother release any irritation she might have with him with a soft tut-tut as she kissed his forehead, the face that won over so many lovely young ladies at the balls thrown by Prince Roland’s father, King Manfred—and drew up her hand to kiss her slender fingers. “If you wish, I could have such a thing made for you.”

“No,” she said, sliding her hand free of Prince Roland’s grasp. “I mean _my_ cloak of feathers. It was here, covering me as I slept, and now it is missing.”

“I saw no—” began Prince Roland, but the maiden rolled up onto to her knees, making her as tall as the prince, kneeling before her, and interrupted him sharply.

“Don’t lie to me!” She lifted her chin, beautiful features pulling into the lines of anger, but still so lovely that it was like seeing the displeasure of a goddess, rather than a woman.

“I could never—” Prince Roland tried again, and was once more cut off by the furious yet enchanting voice of the maiden.

“You would and you _have_ , sir!” Graceful as a sylph, the maiden was on her feet in a moment, arms out and rising in a gesture that, had she not been plainly angry, might have looked like an invitation to an embrace. “I will have my cloak returned to me, at once!”

“Please, my dearest maiden, do not be overset,” Prince Roland said soothingly, cautiously considering whether he ought to try embracing her, though his instincts argued against it. “There is clearly no such thing here in your little bower. We will hunt for it later, dear girl, just come with me now and I shall shower you with anything your heart desires.”

“Liar!” she hissed, eyes narrowing again, extending her head forward as she raised her arms further. “You will fetch it to me or suffer the consequences!”

“I don’t know to what you refer, my sweet—“ The endearment was subsumed into a series of pained noises as the swan maiden began to batter Prince Roland with her arms and hands, hissing and spitting invective he could hardly understand. Her arms were as hard as clubs, her nails sharp as an eagle’s talons, and occasionally she landed a blow with a fist that rocked the prince nearly off his knees.

Though he wore a sword at his side, had a bow and quiver of arrows near to hand, Prince Roland never had the chance to come to his feet, falling eventually to the ground and curling up in an effort to protect his more tender places, or from possibly losing an eye. Soon enough he was gasping and groaning, his protests turning to pleas.

“I’ll tell you where it is! Please, please, stop! The cloak of—ow!—feathers! It’s… ow, arg, oof! It’s nearby, I swear!”

Grasping a handful of the Prince’s rumpled and torn coat of fine velvet, the swan maiden dragged him half upright and hissed into his bruising face, “Where? Tell me!”

“O-over there, behind that rock n-next to the fallen tree… I hid it. I promise, it is right there.” He pointed emphatically, the backs of his hands turning slowly to a range of colors in purples and reds. “Just… no more—please!” he begged when she shook him, raising one finger-spread hand as if to slash at him again. “It’s there.”

“Do you understand what wrong you have done me? Or would have done me?” demanded the swan maiden, shaking Prince Roland again. “How foul to woo with a pretty face and pretty voice while every word is underscored with lies! What if I _had_ come to love you? How would you have repaid my tenderness? With lies. Keeping me at your side by deceit. Could you love someone who chained you as a prisoner? Regardless of how opulent your prison, I dare say you would not be content as someone’s pet; how could you have imagined I would be?”

“I-I’m sorry… truly I am… I didn’t… didn’t think.” Prince Roland didn’t fully understand, but he was aching and battered; made strangely afraid by the fury of such a beautiful creature, where other, fiercer beasts and men had not shaken his resolve. Yet, here and now, there was no fight left in him.

“Didn’t think. _That_ is obvious,” muttered the lovely girl as she released him to slump back down to the grassy, leaf-strewn floor of the lakeside clearing. She stalked with innate grace and the vigor of lingering anger to the place Prince Roland had indicated, digging away a pile of leaves to find the hidden cloak of snow-white feathers.

The girl—a young woman, really—shook out the cloak, its feathers fluffing and shedding all hints of detritus unnaturally easily, and glared at Prince Roland once more before glancing up to the surrounding treetops. The first delicate golden glints of sunlight were turning the leaves from mere green to shimmering jade. Sweeping the cloak about her shoulders and bowing her head, the swan maiden was hidden by a sparkling whirlwind of fluffy white feathers and pinpoints of light, like fireflies and dappled sunlight dancing. In but a moment there stood a large, snow-white swan. A tuft of golden feathers atop her head looked very like a feathery crown and her eyes were the same deep blue that the maiden’s had been.

She stepped around the fallen tree and toward Prince Roland, seemingly a swan, but the most beautiful and graceful swan that must ever have lived. His eyes were wide and he gasped softly as he watched her approach, only just stopping himself from reaching out to touch what would no doubt have been downy soft feathers at her breast.

The swan hissed at him, snapping at his fingers, and peered at him with blatant meaning in her avian face.

“S-sorry…” mumbled Prince Roland, not even pretending he didn’t understand.

As the prince watched warily, the swan maiden bobbed her head and gave one last little grumbling hiss before spreading her wings and taking to the air. The rising sun glinted so brightly on her white wings that the prince’s eyes stung and watered… or that’s what he told himself as he wiped his damp face with his tattered sleeve, eventually rising and limping back to where he’d hidden his horse.

Later that year, King Manfred happily announced his son, Prince Roland, was marrying the daughter of a neighboring king. No feathered cloaks, no lies, no trickery, just a regular princess marrying a regular—if somewhat less impetuous—prince.


End file.
